


Brick and Bone

by PlagueClover



Category: Original - Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Amnesia, Betrayal, Demon, Gay Sex, Horror, Hypnosis, Immortal, Life Drain, Love at First Sight, M/M, Manipulation, Mind Control, Minor Character Death, Misunderstandings, Obsession, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, Rape, Romance, Seduction, Slash, Spanking, Thriller, Trapped, escaped convicts, incubus, m/m - Freeform, soul eating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2018-09-17
Packaged: 2019-07-13 07:06:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16012799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlagueClover/pseuds/PlagueClover
Summary: He’s been trapped under the house for decades. He doesn’t remember his name, so he claims the last one on his tongue. He doesn’t remember how he got there or his life before, but when two unsuspecting criminals show up, none of that matters anymore. They give him a taste of freedom he never thought he’d get, and now that his appetite has been whetted, he’ll let nothing stand in his way.





	1. The Brick

**Author's Note:**

> It's that time of year again! Autumn!! You know what that means? Hooooorrror! My favourite time of year. So I wrote a few little ficlets. A couple are more Halloweeny so they'll be posted in late October, but here's a little darkness to enjoy as the leaves fall and the days grow shorter. 
> 
> Please keep in mind, a stereotype or two is used intentionally. Bear with me.
> 
> This story is complete. It's a two-parter, so I'll post the second part tomorrow-ish.

01

 

It isn’t always darkness. There are times when shimmering beams of sunlight slip through the cracks in the bricks. In fleeting moments, I see my fingertips clearly as they chase after floating specks of dust.

It isn’t always quiet. There’s more than just my mournful screams into the empty night. Breezes carry music and laughter like clockwork. I’ve counted. Every seventh sun. Too distant to call to, and even if they come near, would I? Could I? It has been so long since I died, I’m afraid of what they might find.

There are bones beneath my feet. I often wonder if they are mine - if those pale fingers flitting through the sunbeams are nothing more than a wishful memory. How can they be? I’ve been trapped for years. So many years, I lost count countless times.

So long, I’ve forgotten my life before the darkness. The things I swore I’d always keep locked in my heart fade away ever more by the ticking of the grandfather clock in the dormant house above. I’ve slept through brutal winters and awoke stiff and covered in frost. I’ve flung myself at the walls until my body and mind succumbed to the darkness, and I’ve buried myself beneath the bones for days, with nothing to breathe but soil. These are not things a living man should do.  

Yet I don’t recall my death.

This isn’t even my home. Of that much I am certain. That ticking is not the sound of my clock, and these ruined things are not my bricks. I’m also quite positive this unhealing wound across my throat had not been there the last time I looked upon the sky.

I think about it often, in this darkened phantom realm of mine. Like trying to remember a long forgotten dream. Sometimes it teeters on the tip of my memory.

This is one of those moments. I catch a sweet scent on a spring breeze. Magnolias, I think. I close my eyes and inhale the faint memory of wine across my tongue. I can still hear the clinking of flutes - still feel the velvet of a waistcoat beneath my fingertips.

A name comes to me. “Félicien.” I speak it aloud, but the reminiscence stops there, and in seconds, it slips from my fingers like the sunlight from the cracks, and all I’m left with is the scent of magnolias.

Maybe it’s  _my_  name. If it were that of my killer, I’d expect to feel something. Anything. But by now I’ve grown accustomed to the impish teasing of my faded life. Just glimpses of things through the years that bring more questions than answers, and ultimately are pointless because here I am. Here I’ll stay. What use are memories to the dead?

I run my fingers over the cracks. It’s been seconds since the sun passed by, but the rough brick edges are cold and hard as if they’ve never known the warmth of light. I press my cheek to the wall and wonder.

If I am a phantom, why can I not pass through?

In the distance, I hear a rumble. Like thunder, but unending. It grows louder. Angrier. I feel the vibrations through my chest, into my teeth. I peel away from the wall. My eyes dart up to the cracks as I slowly creep back through the dust and bones.

It grows so loud, it’s all I can hear. It roars through my head, my ears fit to burst. I clap my hands over them, tight as I can, but it does little to shut the monstrous sound out.

I scream.

The roar cuts off.

“Did you hear that?”

A voice? Clear as day, that was definitely a man’s voice. I stare at the cracks in the bricks. My hands hover over my ears, frozen by disbelief. It has been so long since I heard words. Clear words. It takes me a moment to soak them in.

“It’s just raccoons. You wanna help me with this?”

“I’m serious. That was a scream, wasn’t it? Oh my god, what the fuck have you dragged me into?”

“Jesus, okay!” There’s a loud metallic thunk. Heavy footsteps thump louder and louder, closer and closer. My heart beats wilder with every sound. The voice calls out, “Hello? Anybody here?”

The other voice grumbles, “It was a scream, asshole. If someone's up in there murdering people, they’re not going to just fucking say ‘g’day mates’ and welcome us in.”

“So... This murderer’s Australian now?”

“Them Australian serial killers are the fucking wo-”

“Hello,” I rasp.

Everything falls silent. Have I broken the spell? I listen hard, desperately straining to catch a breath or a heartbeat that’s not my own. Anything to make them real, but I hear nothing outside but the birds and the rustling of wind through the trees.

Then a throat clears. A boot shifts in gravel. “Uh...”

“Don’t fucking answer,” the other hisses.

They’re real. My chest swells. It’s such a foreign feeling, I almost don’t recognise it for what it is: hope. I scramble through the bones and hit the wall with a smack. I stretch up as far as I can to try and catch a glimpse through the cracks, but they’re too high. “Please! I’m trapped!”

“Let’s just go, man!”

Heavy footsteps thump closer. “Is the door inside or are you in like a storm shelter type of deal?”

“Door?” My fingers claw helplessly at the bricks. “There’s no door. There was never a door.”

There’s a pause. For a moment I’m afraid he’ll leave, and if he leaves, he’ll be gone forever. But instead, he moves closer. So close, I almost feel his body warmth through the cracks. A strange, musty scent floats in. I almost don’t recognize it: the smell of a living, breathing human being.

“It’s okay,” he whispers. I can feel his deep voice against my fingertips. “I’m gonna get you out of there.”

“Please...” A sob wracks my shoulders. Emotions wash over me I didn’t know I could still have. My eyes sting with tears and I begin to tremble violently.

“Can you move away from the wall?”

“No,” I plead, “I don’t want to.”

“I know you’re scared, baby, but you gotta work with me here. I can’t bust this wall down if you’re right there.”

The other voice mutters, “‘Baby’?”

“I don’t know - I’m used to comforting my nieces. No, you know what? Fuck off, Troy. Why you still standing there?”

“The fuck you expect me to do? Cheer? You wanna find my ass some pom poms?”

“Whatever, man.”

There’s so many words. My mind’s in a jumble just trying to soak them all in. But I can taste the freedom they promise. With that sweet flavour on my tongue, I peel myself away from the wall. I crawl back into the furthest corner, and I call out, “I’m ready!”

Something hits it. Dust puffs on impact and clouds my air.

“Fuck. Fucker’s harder than it looks.”

There’s a grunt. Something scrapes on the rocks. Then, a loud bang. A brick pops out of the wall and clatters to the bones six feet below. Shaded daylight spills in after it as the man lets out a victorious growl.

The bottom of a boot appears to slam the wall with a powerful kick that knocks two more loose. And another. And another. Until light floods my little hole.

I want so badly to run into it, but it burns at my sight so I shy away and tremble in the farthest corner.

“Holy shit,” the deep voice breathes. “Troy, you seeing this?” He doesn’t wait for an answer. Through the bright haze, I see a figure crouching in a hole above. An arm reaches out for me. “C’mon. It’s okay, I’m not gonna hurt you.”

He has no idea how much I need to touch that arm of his. With every ounce of questionable life I’ve managed to cling to, I launch off the wall. I fight through the burning light with one arm curled around my forehead and blindly scramble across the bones. They slip beneath me. I tumble and splat flat on my face, but keep going until I reach reach him. I flail my arm up for his.

He catches it.

The heat from his flesh burns, but I cling even harder for it. His fingers wrap around my elbow. Another hand grips my shoulder and with a grunt, he tugs me up out into the blinding light.

I collapse to the warm, overgrown grass. I don’t remember the last time I felt anything so soft and alive. Even as I squeeze my eyes shut, I dig my fingers into the soil and inhale deeply the fragrant scents of sweet clover and dandelion.

“This is some serial-killer-ass place here,” Troy mumbles from somewhere behind me. Back where my hole is. “Shit. Can we go now?”

“Go where?” My hero’s hands are still locked on my shoulders, but gentle, like he’s trying to do all my balancing for me even as he growls at his companion.

Troy lets out a baffled huff. “What do you mean ‘where’? You’re the one kicking down walls to save him - he needs a hospital.”

“You wanna go back to the city with our faces plastered all over the six o’clock news? Go right the fuck ahead.”

“You’re such a dick. Okay, you’re right. I get it. So what we gonna do with him? He’s a witness now, right? You know what they say about loose ends.”

“I saved him. That makes him a character witness. Might need one of those soon if you keep talking.”

“That a threat?”

“Take it however you need to, so long as you shut your raggedy...”

I touch his hand and he trails off. It’s so warm. It doesn’t burn anymore, it just feels so right. I lean into it, into his broad, sturdy frame. For the moment, they’re both silent and he hesitates, before he finally, slowly, wraps his arms around my shoulders.

His broad frame blocks me from that burning light and his heat envelopes me.

I’d like to stay like this forever.

My shoulders tremble with a relieved exhale. I crack my eyes open against the burn just to look up at the quiet, uncertain eyes staring down at me. Feeling and smelling isn’t enough; I need to know that he’s real. I need to test this happy delusion with every sense at my disposal, but even in the shade he made for me, it’s too much and I quickly shrink back down and bury my face in his chest.

“It’s too bright,” I whisper.

I feel him swallow. He inhales deeply through his nose and softly says to me, “Okay. Let’s go inside.”

“Into the serial killer’s house? Shit,” Troy grumbles. “This has slasher flick written all over it.”

\--

Perhaps this house is under the same spell as I. In all these years it hasn’t crumbled to ruin. The walls have grown weaker, but inside the dusty parlour, I still smell him on the air. Like a long forgotten dream, he chases the edges of my thoughts with fleeting glimpses and a lingering touch.

Furniture and art clutter the room. None of it is broken or worn from the years of neglect. The rich fabric of the settee is unfaded: a blue brocade pattern I recognize, but it elicits no feelings of connection. I wish it did, but this is not my home. This place was never more than a tomb.

Then something on the wall catches my eye.

I am unaccustomed to walking, but manage to wobble across the room to a painting over the marble mantle where a familiar pair of bright blue eyes stares down at me from beneath a curly halo of golden hair. As I gaze into those eyes, my fingers run through the curls that tumble endlessly past my shoulders.

“Jesus,” my hero mutters as he stops at my side. He looks to the painting then to me. “Is that you?”

How he can see the resemblance through the filth on my sunken, malnourished face is beyond me, but it brings a warmth to my cheeks and a hesitant smile to my lips. “He must have loved me.”

“The fucker that bricked you in down there?” My hero scoffs quietly. He turns to me and runs a calloused thumb over the wound on my neck. His voice comes low. Almost angry. “The fucker that did this? No. That’s not love.”

His touch is warm. I lean into it and I can feel his flare of anger melt away. His arms slide around my shoulders under the guise of support, but I can feel it in his heated glow between us: he likes it. So I press in against him, tighter by the second. I’m not going to put up a facade of fragility. I have been too alone for too long to play with polite lies.

I like his touch. I want him to know it.

His breath grows sharp. I feel the thumping of his heart against my chest, steady and soothing even as it picks up. He casts a furtive glance across the room, where Troy is digging around in a cupboard, and then he shifts his weight and quietly asks, “What’s your name?”

“Félicien,” I guess as my hand creeps up beneath his jacket.

He gulps. “You, like... Thirsty or hungry or... maybe we should find somewhere for you to lay down?”

“What the fuck?” Troy’s alarmed voice comes from the next room. I wonder briefly when he left this one, but I really can’t bring myself to care. “Dante, c’mere. You gotta see this shit.”

My hero is reluctant to tear his eyes off mine.

Troy appears through a doorway. He gives ‘Dante’ a pointed look. I’m not paying enough attention to him to read it, but whatever is in his eyes is enough to tear our gazes apart. “It’s about him,” he insists.

Dante’s tongue darts out to wet his lips. He looks me over as he says, “I don’t care.”

“Oh you’re definitely gonna care about this shit.”

Irritation rides Dante’s sigh. He peels himself away from me, but gently, like he’s worried I won’t be able to stand on my own. After a reluctant moment where his hand lingers on my shoulder blades, he whispers, “You should sit down. I’ll be right back, okay?”

As he heads for Troy, I wobble along in his wake. He frowns at me like he disapproves, but I can see tickled amusement glimmer in his eyes, and he says nothing to dissuade me.

We follow into the next room. A kitchen with a stone staircase down into a basement, and it takes me a split second to spot the problem.

There, scrawled across the overhang in red letters too big and thick to fade completely with the weakening walls, are the words:

“Don’t let him out,” Troy reads aloud with a hard look at Dante. He glances at me. “Maybe he’s the killer.”

Dante scowls. “He’s not the fucking killer.”

“How do you know? Huh?” Troy pops a shoulder up in an agitated shrug. “Because he’s a pretty little white boy? Because pretty little white boys are never sociopaths, are they?” He pretends to think about it, then throws his hands in the air. “Oh wait... All the fucking sociopaths ever in all of history were pretty little fucking white boys!”

Dante snorts and looks Troy up and down. “Okay, let me lay it out for you. They built walls around him. That takes time. That takes finding some bricks, mixing up a batch of cement, tiling them on there so it looks all natural and shit. So tell me, you got yourself a serial killer: are you gonna spend all that time and energy bricking him in and never tell anyone, or are you gonna call the mother fucking police?”

Troy’s nostrils flare, but he doesn’t answer. Instead, his angry eyes settle on me. “Something ain’t right about you.”

I don’t know how to respond to that.

“You wanna be a bitch about this? Let’s just ask him.”

Troy shrugs again. “Be my guest, Mr. Wall-Breaker. Fucking… Kool-aid man.”

Dante rolls his eyes as he turns around. He gently grasps me by the shoulders and guides me backwards to set me into a dusty dining chair and then he crouches down over my knees to peer up into my eyes. “What happened? How did you end up down there?”

My fingers find their way to his cheek. I want to tell him. I would tell him everything if I could just so that he would know I’d never lie to him. I strain for the answers. I even suck in a lungful of air as if going through the motions would stimulate my memory, but it doesn’t.

“I...” I gulp. My eyes burn with hopeless tears they sweep across the distantly familiar cabinets. “I was invited, I think? This was his home... I remember the smell of magnolias and wine.”

“It’s okay,” Dante gently tells me as he captures my hand in his against his cheek. “Coulda been drugs, could just be amnesia, right? Maybe it’ll come back to you.”

“I was down there a long time.”

Dante nods. “I see that. Where do you live?”

My chest clenches. I don’t like these questions. I don’t like not knowing. And it’s not long before my bottom lip is quivering and my hands shake.

I swallow back a wave of emotion. A tear streaks down my cheek and I shake my head. “I forgot. I forgot everything and everyone.” My voice cracks and my breath, wet with distress, trembles through the air between us. “I don’t know who I am. What if I am the killer? What if I hurt people and that’s why everyone left me to rot?”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Dante’s fingers slip into my curls. He rises just enough to shift closer and pulls me by my shaking shoulders off the chair, tight against his chest. I sob quietly into his shirt as he strokes the back of my head and whispers into my hair, “I got you. You’re alive and you’re safe, and none of that other shit matters right now.

I cling to his sides with weak desperation like he’s the only thing anchoring me to this world. I struggle to control my trembling, but a part of me doesn’t want to stop. Would it be so bad if I could tremble in his arms all night?

“Okay, this is enough,” Dante decides with an irritated look back at Troy. “You need to stop acting like a jealous bitch right fucking now, because I am done with this bullshit. You and me, we ain’t boos. What we had in there is over, and I will leave you in my fucking dust if you start adding more drama to the shit we’re already neck-deep in.”

Troy doesn’t answer. He just glares at me, and angrily turns away.

“Fuck him,” Dante murmurs into my hair. He pulls me to my feet and we shuffle together out of the room.

We wander together throughout the house. There are flowers in pots, dried when they should be turned to dust. It worries me. The paintings on the wall, untouched by time worry me even more. Nobody came in the years I was trapped. I would have heard something. All this should be rubble. Ceilings should be caving in, floorboards should be rotted away. That nagging fear creeps up again that this is all just a dream.

So I cling to him harder. He looks down at me with a guilty compassion. Like he knows he should be doing more for me, but can’t. His fingers entwine in my curls. We slip into a darkened room and for a moment my body tingles with anticipation because I think he means to do more than just hold me,

But he lets go.

“Try and get some rest,” Dante tells me. “I’m gonna go see if the water in that well is any good so you can wash up.”

“No!” I grab him by the back of the shirt to stop him and pull myself in against his back. I wrap my arms around his waist as I bury my face into his shoulders. “Please don’t leave me. I don’t wanna wake up from this dream.”

His calloused fingers run over my arms. “Okay,” he softly says.  
  
_To Be Continued..._


	2. The Bone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the final part of the story! I hope you enjoyed this little ride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Explicit semi-consensual sex and sexual violence ahead. Proceed with caution.

 

Our bodies press together as he guides me backwards. I think he’s doing it on purpose, but I’m not complaining. I can feel it in the way he moves, in the way he looks at me, that he wants to be mine. It's been so long since I've felt that craving of another real, living man pull at me, but there's not a second that I don't recognize it. 

My calves hit a mattress. He reaches past me to pull off the dusty comforter, only to lose his balance. 

I yelp as we tumble to the mattress. He lets out a laugh, a cough, and covers me with his arms as if shielding me from the cloud of dust that puffs up around us. 

Then his eyes meet mine as the bouncing of ancient springs settles. His breath catches. He starts to move off of me, but I tighten my grip on his shirt to stop him. 

I lift my head. He’s on my hair, so I can’t lift it far, but he dips the rest of the way and our lips connect. He exhales through his nose, against mine. His tongue eagerly parts my lips and his body rocks into my hips. 

And I feel it: heat. Life. Like a bone-deep thrum that heals every neglected inch of me it touches. It flows through the kiss, more and more as he delves deeper. Every second I drink from him, I can feel my energy returning. My fingers run over his shaved head to the little strip of plush hair at the top. His breath comes faster. I can feel his lust swell against my thigh. He starts to break from the kiss, but it’s not enough. I have to hold him in place with both hands and lash my tongue deeper and deeper until I can taste the back of his throat. 

He grunts. His throat tightens and he jerks back away from me, breaking from my hold. His brows furrow as he stares down into my eyes with confused surprise, but the heat is too strong. I can see it written across his kiss-swollen lips. He wants more just as bad as I do. 

He grabs my wrists. He pins them to my splayed curls above my head. “You,” he pants wetly, “are in no condition for this shit.”

“Please...”

“You been through some real fucking trauma. You need rest, a bath, probably some counselling and medication and shit... I don’t want to take advantage of you.”

I swallow back the urge to beg more. I can still feel the buzz of his energy surging through my veins and throbbing in my ears, but I don’t know how to explain to him what I’m feeling - what I need. So I let the silence settle in between us, as cold and exhausted as it tends to be. 

And after a moment, I ask, “Why are you here?”

He chews his thick bottom lip and glances down at where our bodies are still flush together. His ears burn a bright, needy red. “Um... I...”

“You did something wrong. Are they going to execute you?”

“What?” Dante lets out a surprised laugh. “No, no! It ain’t like that. Okay... here’s how it is...” 

He lets go of my wrists and drops onto his side next to me, but the inches between us are too cold, and I quickly close them back up before he gets a chance to hide his erection. His breath hitches, but he pretends not to notice. 

“I robbed a few places. It’s not like I even hurt anybody, but there was some property damage and a lot of money involved, and it was my third strike, so...”

“Like baseball?”

He laughs and grins at me. “Yeah. Like a fucked up, racist game of baseball. Prosecution painted me like I’m some sorta gang banger. I dunno where they thought I’d go to join a gang in Yuma, Colorado, but it worked, and they put me away for a long time.”

I watch his face as the grin fades and he watches me back. He’s searching for something. Fear, disgust maybe. But I’m not afraid and his crimes do not jar me. I lift a hand to run over the bristles on his chin and I say, “You were trapped too.”

His Adam’s apple bobs tensely. “Yeah...” He reluctantly peels himself away. I try to stop him, but he dodges my hand. “I ain’t going far. Just gonna see what I can do about getting you into that bath. You're free now; you deserve to feel clean again. But seriously, this time don’t move.” 

He spares me one last sidelong glance before he disappears out the door.

I want to obey. I want to wait here for him, but I still feel the warmth of his lips on mine. I can still taste his heat on my tongue, and my body buzzes from that sip of vigor I drank from him. If I could just have a little more... 

My fingers play over the wound on my neck. I climb carefully off the bed and make my way to the doorway. My wobble is a little less pronounced now, but I must still cling to the doorframe for balance as I slip out. 

Dante is nowhere in sight. I pause a moment to listen for him, but instead, I hear Troy’s voice in a soft murmur, so I follow it back towards the kitchen. I peek in at him. He’s muttering into a small black bit of metal as he glares angrily out the window at where Dante is bent over a stone well. 

“Fuck, I get it, okay? Just make sure my lawyer’s there,” he says. “It’s a house north off Kelley Stand Road. Well hidden. Path up is overgrown, so just look for the...” He glances over his shoulder at me. “Shit,” he hisses and quickly drops the metal into his pocket. “As if you weren’t creepy enough, now you sneaking around too.”

I hold onto the kitchen doorframe with both hands and press my cheek to it. I don’t know who he was talking to or how, but I know what he’s doing. I know he’s trying to take Dante away from me and leave me alone again, but that’s okay. If he wishes to act like an insect, I’m more than happy to crush him like one.

“Do you smell them?” I quietly ask.

He eyes me suspiciously. “Smell what?”

“The magnolia.” I sniff at the wooden frame and smile. “They cling to wood, don’t they?”

“All I smell,” he wags his finger like he’s tracing me in the air, “is some death-smelling mother fucker, ‘Feluciooon’. Bitch, you probably ain’t even French.”

I inhale deeply with my nose to the wood and my eyes closed. After all these years, I can still smell my love there, burned into the grains like he’d never left. My fingers run slowly down the sides and I can feel the air begin a tenuous shift between Troy and I. I can feel the snap of his lust triggering and his deep, suspicious resistance to it. 

This feels familiar.  _ He _ resisted me too, didn’t he? Félicien. My gaze drifts to the painting over the mantle in the next room. I looked so alive, so loved. He wanted me. My dear Félicien went to a lot of trouble to bring me here, but still, he had been wary. 

“I don’t want to get in between you and Dante,” I tell him as my gaze drifts back to his angry face. 

Troy snorts incredulously. “What, because you spent ten minutes groping him now you think he’s your man? Puh-lease. Being bricked up down there must’ve made you crazy.” 

“You smell them, don’t you?”

“Bitch, I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with you, but I have had...” Troy's on the verge of shouting, but he stops. His face sort of freezes in place and his gaze drifts. He closes his mouth. Uncertainty furrows his brows and he sniffs at the air. “Shit... I smell them.”

“You can have him,” I whisper. “We can both have him.” 

Troy gapes at me. “Jesus... You’re really out of your mind.” He takes a step closer. “He don’t love you, boo. He don’t even know you.”

“Imagine it, Troy,” I urge through a panted breath. “The three of us... our bodies entwined. Connected. You can feel it, can’t you? You can feel your body melting into ours. It feels right, doesn’t it? It feels like everything you’ve ever wanted and more.”

His cheeks redden. His next step is unsteady and his gaze clouds over. He still fights, but he’s weak with insecurities and too susceptible to my words. I feel him trying to squirm out of the suggestions like a fly in a web: hopeless and so deliciously vulnerable. 

I leave the doorframe and close the distance between us. He wants to recoil, but he doesn’t. He can’t. As my fingers slide up his arm, over his shoulder, he lets out one last pathetic, “Stop...”

“I’m sorry,” I whisper to him, “But we deserve to be free.” And I press my lips gently to his. 

He struggles against me, but he’s too deep into the fantasy I carved that I don’t even have to hold him. I find his tongue eager. His heat floods my mouth as my fingers trail up his jaw. He whimpers against me and I begin to suck at his strength. Slow at first, but as he begins to weaken, I suck harder. My body swells. I can feel my atrophied muscles fill in and my dried flesh plump and soften. 

He withers against my fingertips. I purr into the kiss as his arms hang limp at his sides. Somewhere, I hear a door slam open, but it is so distant from our little embrace that I don’t even think about it. I just drink. 

Someone shouts “No!” 

But the sickening sound of Troy’s eyes sinking into their sockets drowns it out. And with a couple more indulgent gulps, he’s gone. 

Hands wrench me away too late. Troy drops to the floor in a heap of leathery flesh and bone. The only moisture left are the pools where his eyes have burst. 

“What the... What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck?!” 

Dante holds me by the arms, but not like before. This time, he keeps me at arm’s length. This time his fingers dig painfully into my elbows. 

“Troy?!” He tosses a look over his friend, but he’s not stupid. Troy is very dead and unlikely to answer. He fixes his stare on me. Horror flares behind his eyes like he’s looking at a monster. 

I’ve seen this look before.

His voice cracks into a desperate hush. “What did you do...? What are you?”

“He was going to send you back,” I quickly answer. “He told them where you are. I just thought-”

“Oh fuck you.” Dante lets out a panicky laugh, but nothing but fear and betrayal reflects on his face. 

He throws me into a chair. I try to get out, but he roughly shoves me back down. He grabs a rope off the wall. A rope I have felt before, and the faded memory of it itches through the wound on my neck. He hastily wraps it around me over and over. Loop after loop. He wraps it around my throat, around my wrists, and ties it so tight I can hardly breathe. 

“Dante,” I plead. 

“Shut the fuck up.” He paces across the room one way. Then another. He holds his head with his hands clawed as he stares down at the dried husk of his friend, and then he lets out a baffled sob. “You just... You kissed him and now he’s dead. But we kissed.” His eyes brim with tears as they snap to me. “I felt something when we kissed.”

“Love?” I rasp.

He points at me. “I felt you taking something out of me. You were gonna kill me.”

I choke. “No!” How could he even think that? If I wanted to kill him, I would have. “Please, Dante, we have to go. He told them - they’re gonna put us back in our cages.”

He paces towards me, frantic and angry. He grabs me by my bound shoulders and lifts the chair half off the ground to snarl in my face, “Stop fucking talking!”

The doors burst open. He jerks away from me. My chair drops hard to the ground as two pairs of heavy boots storm in with guns pointed. Shouts fill the air, so noisy I don’t understand, but Dante does. 

His hands dart into the air. He drops to his knees as one of the men drop on top of him with a knee in his spine. The other casts a quick look at Troy then comes _my_ way.

“One dead.” The stranger stops in front of me and speaks into a black box on his shoulder. “And one hostage. We’ll need forensics on this one. Where’re the medics?”

A burst of static that almost sounds like a voice answers. 

“Don’t let him go!” Dante screams above their shouts. I can hear the pain in his strained voice. 

“Shut it!” The butt of a gun slams down on the back of Dante’s head so hard, even from across the room I can feel the burst of pain stunning him still and silent. 

The second man walks around me. “God, what did these sick fucks do to you?” 

“Please,” I beg.

He gently tugs the knots out and unravels the rope. I suck in a desperate gasp for air, and as my lungs fill, I tumble gratefully into his arms with a relieved sob. This time, Dante says nothing, and I feel muscular arms wrap protectively around me. 

“You’re okay.” the stranger grumbles. “You got two of the finest state troopers here to protect you.”

Deep down, I feel a depraved rumble inside him. It’s not the same as the connection I feel in Dante. This man is a hunter and his heat has nothing to do with me and everything to do with the scared little victim he thinks he has in his hands. 

So I sob a little more and press into him a little harder. 

“I’m gonna get this poor guy out of here,” the man says to the other.

The other shrugs, but there’s a knowing look in his eyes and a smirk tugging at his lips. “What about the medics?”

“ETA’s thirty. Might as well just meet them in town.”

“Right. Well, I guess I’ll just load this gentleman into the car and then wait around here for the city boys to show up.”

\--

We’re on the road now. The automobile glides across the highway faster and quieter than any I’ve ever known. Inside, we’re silent. The radio plays softly, but I can hardly hear a word through the depressive haze wafting from my love in the cage behind me. 

He hasn’t looked at me. Not once. His gaze is locked on his knees as he loses himself in his dark thoughts. They’re going to lock him away forever, aren’t they? Just brick him in and forget him all because he had the nerve to grasp at a sliver of freedom. He knows this. How could he not? And I can feel it in the air between us - he’s resigned himself to it. 

I twist in my seat to look back at him. I try to catch his gaze, but he ignores me. 

A hand creeps over my thigh. I look at the officer. He’s still watching the road but spares me a glance, and when he thinks he likes what he sees in my curious reaction, his hand slides further. His fingers curl around my inner thigh and nudge my legs apart in a coy way, like he thinks he could still claim he’s just being friendly if I dare protest. 

“Don’t worry about him,” the officer mumbles. “He can’t hurt you.”

I say nothing. This one doesn’t want eager, he wants scared. He wants weak and vulnerable, so I let my breath hitch and feign a tremble. 

As his fingers brush the threadbare seam between my legs, his voice lowers to a quiet growl. “You like that, don’t you?” 

“No,” I breathe meekly. 

“No?” The officer flashes a distracted grin. He massages my thigh with more conviction, then pulls it harder towards him as the automobile slows and veers to the side of the road. “You wanna go where he’s going?”

I blink, stunned and overwhelmed. “What?”

His seatbelt comes off. He hisses through his teeth as he leans across to me and his tongue lashes at my ear. “You’re not gonna go snitching on me. You’re smarter than that. You’ve been through so much with these thugs - you don’t wanna fuck up your entire life too.” 

I shiver and he chuckles. He settles back into his seat and gets the automobile moving again. But this time, he turns off the highway. We drive in silence down an old, dirt road. The sky burns with the setting sun, but the trees are thick and cast the world around us in darkness. 

He pulls over into a small, deserted camping area. He cuts the engine and the lights, and then reaches over and grabs me roughly by the groin. It hurts. I yelp as he massages too deep. I grab his arm to try to stop him, but that only makes him go faster. I squirm and he likes it. 

He leans over. He pulls me by the thigh into the hard spot between the seats, under his weight and he grunts in my ear. “You like that, don’t you bitch?” 

I let out a sob. I try to cling to the door, but it pops open and the wind rips it away from me. He yanks my trousers down. I feel them rip. Then he spits into his palm and reaches down between us. 

“Please,” I beg. 

“You want more?” He grabs my leg under the knee and forces it up against my chest, trapping my foot under the dashboard. The more I protest, the more excited he gets. He slaps at my exposed rear, but he has no room, so the sound is dulled and the sting is minor, but I yelp and he buzzes with approval. 

“Oh yeah,” he breathes excitedly. “That’s what you want, isn’t it? You want daddy to slap that ass, don’t you, you little whore?” 

I do. My body burns for it, but I sob and say “No! God, please don’t!” 

He pulls away from me. I shiver in the cold and the wind as he throws his door open. He paces quickly around the car, pumping indulgently at a full-blown erection. I want to taste it. I want to suck every ounce of life out of it, but I know if I try I’ll lose him. 

He grabs me by the hair. I scream as he yanks me violently out and throws me up against the hood. I’m hard, and he sees it. His fingers wrap around it and squeeze until I can’t take it anymore and I cry out, “Stop! It hurts!” 

“Maybe I’ll stop if you call me ‘daddy’,” he teases. 

“Please, daddy,” I beg. 

He lets go. Then, with a loud roar, he slams his palm down hard on my ass. My scream tears through the wind. And another loud slap makes that scream crack. Pain explodes through my back end. My flesh flares and burns and the officer bumps his erection into my hip. 

“Daddy,” I sob desperately.

“Fuck yeah.” He nuzzles the back of my head. His arm hooks around my belly as he forces his erection in. “Oh fuck,” he growls with approval. “Are you a virgin, you little cunt?” He pushes in harder, sending waves of searing pain through me that make my eyes water and noises squeeze from my throat I’ve never made before. He growls into my hair, “beg daddy to fuck you.”

“No!”

“You wanna go to prison? You wanna live the rest of your life in a six-by-eight cell, bitch? Getting passed around by big black boys with twelve inch cocks? You want that to be your day-to-day?” He pulls out to push back in, harder and deeper, evoking a gutteral cry from deep in my aching belly. 

“Please, daddy!”

“You like being my little bitch, don’t you?” He pulls out all the way. I gasp and try to look fearful, but I see the hand coming down. The sharp slap reverberates through me with stinging tendrils. I fight an approving moan and bury it in a sob. It takes all of my willpower not to hump the hood as his hand comes down six more brutal times, each slap hurts twice as bad as the last and makes my body jump and convulse. My screams run ragged. Everything burns angrily as shoves his erection back in. 

He pushes my shirt up. Can’t get it over my arms with the position he has me it, so he tangles me in it as he begins to thrust wildly. 

Yelps pop from my throat, but my shirt muffles them. 

“Take that cock, bitch!” He slaps at the angry, stinging side of my ass. His breath grows shallower by the second. I can feel his heat and strength pouring into me. I squeeze my body around him as he devolves into mindless, frenzied fucking. One hand digs painfully into my hip while the other alternates between yanking at my hair and slapping my ass. 

I wail and yelp rhythmically for him, and the more excited he is, the more of his energy he pours into me. I can’t take it anymore. I start to fuck myself on him as I cry, but he’s too deep to notice. 

He finally stops slapping. He collapses against me with a loud roar and pistons in with abandon. 

“Bitch,” he voice breaks. “You fucking bitch.” His arms wrap around me. He buries his sweaty face into my spine and drags his teeth down my sensitive flesh. I gasp and push back all the way until he’s in to the hilt. I clench my body and writhe against him. 

His body jerks. Liquid heat explodes deep inside me. He lets out one last squeak as his whole frame breaks out into convulsions. I feel it spread through me, feeding me. I can taste it on my tongue and I squeeze harder. He tries to get words out, but he’s losing his mind. All I hear are high-pitched noises, breaking into deep confusion and alarm. 

He doesn’t understand why he’s still cumming. He doesn’t get why he can’t talk. The convulsions haven’t stopped and I’m glad. They’re my favourite part. I rock my swollen cock against the hood of the automobile as his full, twitching and trembling weight collapses on me. 

“Oh daddy,” I purr. 

“Wha...” he slides off and collapses to a heap on the ground, but he’s still cumming. 

I wrestle myself out of my shirt and toss it aside into the wind. I gaze down through tear-brimmed eyes at the sunken face and raging erection. Still going. Still alive. But I can take care of that. 

I step over him and get down on my knees. I position his cock and ease it back in. “You like that, you little bitch?” I purr to him. He pushes his hips up eagerly into me, but he’s weak. His mind is withering away, so I ride his gentle thrusts until my hungry body has sucked every last drop. As he takes his last breath, I reluctantly get up. 

“Shame you couldn’t last long enough to get me off, daddy.” I stroke at my arousal and wander around the vehicle to pluck the keys from the ignition Then I open the back seat. 

Dante gapes at me. His ears burn red and there’s a bulge in his pants, but his eyes hold only fear. 

“I’m not going to hurt you.” A warm smile plays across my face. “We’re free now.”

Dante hesitates. Slowly, he climbs out of the cage. He eyes me suspiciously, and when he gets out into the wind, he pauses to stare at the officer. “What are you?”

“I’m yours,” I answer. 

He looks at me and shakes his head. “You’re a demon.”

“There’s no such thing as demons.” I step closer to him, but he jerks away before I can touch. I pout after him, but I’m not going to make another attempt. Not yet. “We’ve both done evil things.”

Dante snorts and flashes an angry smile. “Yeah. I’m not so sure stealing a couple TVs is all the way up there with murdering cops with your ass.” He shakes his head again. He stops by the cop to fish something out of his pocket. A wallet. Then he pockets it and heads for the trees. “Don’t you dare try to fucking follow me,” he warns.

I stand there, staring after him. I glance down at my torn pants. They’re pretty useless now. So I crouch down by the cop. I tug his pants off his ankles, sling them over my shoulder, then I hurry off after Dante. 

The End


End file.
